Chapter Text
Angband was far more frightful than Fingon had anticipated. Oh, he had seen the dread ship out at sea and felt discomforted by her towering black masts designed to suggest spikes stabbing into the heavens, the thick, noxious, black smoke pouring from her chimneys that stained the sky, but now, sneaking around her port, he could feel her radiating malice, malevolence in her very make. A great feeling of foreboding bubbled up, hot within his chest, turn back, turn back, turn back! but Fingon tramped it down.
Beside him, Beren seemed to feel much the same, the whites of his eyes showing like he was a frightened horse. Even Luthien, who in ethereal grace seemed above petty fears, took rapid, shallow breaths. Finrod alone seemed unaffected. He placed a comforting arm on Beren’s shoulder. His white teeth flashed in a bright smile of encouragement. Huddled together under the carnivorous shadow of the ship, the three prepared to go aboard.
On the deck, the sounds of drunken ruckus reached their ears, Angband’s captain and crew celebrating another victory. She was a smuggling ship, but instead of rum and contraband, she dealt in marine life. Operating by a law unto herself, Angband scourged the seas, capturing gentle sea turtles, baby whales not yet weaned, and beautiful exotic fish while her crew hacked away chunks of colourful coral reef. Her cargo was transported to black markets and auctioned off as food, pets, and decorations
Her captain, Melkor, boasted an impressive list of deeds, chief among them that he had seen and killed mermaids. It was said he kept the skeleton of one and was searching for more. That was where Luthien and her group came in. A woman of many skills, she had recruited a small, vigilant band to help her sneak onto Angband and set the creatures free. As a marine biologist, Fingon had been recruited by his doctor cousin Finrod, who had been roped in at the request of his military friend Beren, who would do anything for Luthien. Everything had been planned to a tee. Luthien would slip on board first and distract Morgoth and his crew. Finrod, Fingon and Beren would have an hour and a half to sneak on board, free as many poor creatures as they could, destroy the horrid tanks to prevent Melkor from catching more, then escape into the night. Luthien had a contact on the inside who agreed to disable the cameras and help them where he could.
Luthien looked at them intently. She tapped her wrist; they were to give her a twenty-minute head start. The three men nodded their understanding. Beren yanked her close to him and kissed her deeply. She kissed him back, putting forth all her love, fear, and hope. Finrod sighed dreamily. Fingon himself was moved and inspired in the face of such devotion. Still, a small, jealous part of his heart retched. Do they have to be so in love?
Beren pulled away and allowed her to slip away. She was off, running on feet light as a breeze, her gauzy dress billowing out behind her, midnight hair streaming, lithe, dancer’s body strong and confident. She looked like a goddess, which was exactly what they needed. Hope hinged on her ability to captivate the crew with her dance and song. So enchanted they needed to be that they would drink what was given and fall into a stupor.
The night was so still, clinging to them heavily. Time drug but still it was too soon when the noise of the party decrescendoed to a frightening silence and Beren’s old-fashioned watch beeped.
Fingon, Beren and Finrod set off, melting into the shadows. They wore balaclavas and gloves, dressed all in black. Luthien had taught them to move as silently as a shadow, and they entered the unlocked gangway.
The gentle rocking of the waves soothed Fingon, keeping fear at bay. Inside, Angband was dark, with shallow emergency lights shining yellow. Fingon expected it to resemble movies of pirate ships, evil showing in dripping pipes and gashed walls. Instead, Angband was clean, everything had a place and nothing needed fixing. True evil was a perfection. The three parted ways, though Baren and Finrod went together, as they were assigned to the bigger animals that needed two to lift them. Fingon ducked into a room, lined with glass tanks filled to the brim with fish. He threw open the hatch window and a waterfall of colour cascaded into the murky harbour, as he poured tank after tank of fish.
The gloves made his hands sweat, and his breath was moist against the balaclava. He checked his watch, forty-five minutes to go. He still had a few more rooms and then he needed to make it to the car park. Each of them had their own getaway car, Fingon’s a five-minute job from here, manned by Thorondor, an old friend. He made his way down the corridor. With each room he emptied, his fear grew, and he was shaking. Angband, for all its sterile perfection, felt alive, made so by the suffering held in her bowels. Such despair seeped into him, making him tremble.
The next room he came to was completely dark, no emergency light. Shadows loomed and lurched like they were alive as the ship stirred with the waves. Fingon could hear things clank together and just barely able to make out the dark sharps of unidentifiable things hanging. A mechanical whirl could be heard, and Fingon’s heart took off. I’m in a horror movie, he thought. I’m the protagonist of a horror movie. I’m black, I’m supposed to be too smart for this! I need to leave. His feet were bolted to the floor, his legs chained. Be a man, he commanded. Move. He swallowed, and a song fell from his lips. It was a silly little song, not designed to inspire bravery, but it still made the debilitating fear flee. “But I would walk 500 miles…” his voice sounded too tiny and frightened in the darkness, so he cleared his throat, commanded himself to be a man, and forced himself to take a half step. “And I would walk 500 more,” again, another step was forced, “just to be that man who walked,” he was truly moving now, “1000 miles to fall down at your door. Da da da daaa!”
Something hummed the final notes back at him and Fingon leapt out of his skin. “Who’s there?”
He fished his phone out of his pocket, something he really should have done earlier, and would make a faster appearance when he retold the story. He turned on his flashlight. The light darted across the room, and there, in the actual flesh…well, scales, was a merman.
The merman was squished in a cylindrical tank, about four feet high. The whirling sound Fingon had heard was its filter to keep the water clean. The merman’s back was pressed against the glass, his tail folded in front of him, the fins at the end forced the opposite way by the lid of the tank. He had clearly tried to open it, for his hand was jammed in between the lid and the lip of the tank. It was a frightening purple.
The poor creature was incredibly long, perhaps ten feet from head to tail and far too long for the tank. At first, Fingon thought he was dead, so battered was the merman, but the dead couldn’t sing.
“Da da da daa,” Fingon sang softly. The merman’s head lolled against the glass, and he squinted at Fingon. His grey eyes shone, illuminated from within, and he parted his split lips. A raspy imitation came back to Fingon.
“Hey there,” Fingon said breathlessly, “hey there, pretty thing, did you like my song?” Though starved, battered, and misshapen, the merman still had his species’ famed beauty. His tail, broken in several places to allow him to fit in the dreadful tank, shimmered blueish green, thousands of tiny scales catching the light of Fingon’s phone. Long red hair floated in the water, thick and luxurious.
The merman stared at him, eyes blown wide, gills at his neck fluttering frantically. “Can you speak?” Fingon tried to sound gentle and soothing; it felt like he was talking to one of his horses during a storm.
Fingon placed his gloved hand up against the tank, hoping the merman would take it as a sign of comfort. Instead, the creature flinched, banging against the glass.
“Thank Eru,” a voice came behind him. Fingon spun around to be met with a wall of muscle and truly atrocious blond hair. His fists flew, clipping the man across the jaw. “Hey, don’t find me, I’m on your team. It’s Gwindor.”
Gwindor. Luthien’s contact. Fingon quit swinging and took a step back. “Right. Sorry about that man. You scared the shit out of me.”
Gwindor glared, rubbing his jaw. “My fault, really. You were right to react. You can’t be too careful, not on Melkor’s ships. Not when you’re planning on stealing his prize.”
He looked at the merman sadly, who, recognising the voice, thrashed in his watery prison, making noises that sounded a bit like a dolphin’s chirps and squeaks.
“Help me get this off him,” Fingon said, scrambling up a few steps to the top. In the middle of the lid was a small hatch to drop food. Gwindor and Fingon lifted the lid. Even with the two of them, their arms strained to move the heavy glass. The fact that the merman had moved it even a little by himself spoke of a frighting strength or a horrific adrenaline. Fingon shuddered to think what could have brought it on. With a groan, they removed the lid, and the merman yanked his hand down with a cry.
“Easy Red,” Gwindor said. He looked at Fingon. “What do you have to transport him?”
“What do I —nothing.”
Gwindor gave him a disbelieving look. “Hey!” Fingon defended, “You didn’t tell Luthien he was here. These are catch and release waters. We’re here to make Morgoth uphold the release.”
“We can’t set him free. Look at him. He needs help.”
Fingon took in the merman. His nose was broken, a few of his gills sewn shut or shredded. The outline of an eye branded onto his back, a long vivisection-like scar running from his chest to halfway down his tail, ribs twisted, and his tail broken. He was so painfully thin.
“We’ll take him to my place,” Fingon decided, ignoring Gwindor’s protests. “I have a saltwater pool he can stay in until he’s healed. My cousin’s a doctor; we can fix him.”
Gwindor was forced to agree. He and Fingon found towels in a cupboard and soaked them through. Fingon reached into the tank, grasping underneath the merman’s narrow, emaciated shoulders, and lifted him. The merman started shrieking, voice shrill and panicked, thrashing about despite his broken body. Gwindor was by his side in a moment to help. “Easy Red,” he cooed, lifting him up and wrapping the sodden towels around his tail.
Out of his confinement, the merman let out a breath, relief shining in his face as his tail was unravelled and his arms no longer pressed against glass.
Fingon held him, one hand under the arms, the other underneath the tail, like they were knees. Still, so long was the merman that his fins dragged against the floor. Thankfully, unlike a dolphin, he didn’t weigh much, a bit heavier than a normal human.
“Easy does it,” Gwindor continued, wrapping the merman’s arms, littered with bruises, welts and burns, around Fingon’s neck. His head lulled against Fingon’s shoulder, hair and skin soaking Fingon’s clothes.
“I’ll help you get him to the car—Red don’t!”
White hot pain erupted in Fingon’s shoulder. He yelled, nearly dropping the merman who had sunk his shark-sharp teeth into him, barely missing jugular. Gwindor yanked the merman off by his hair. Teeth bared, the merman snarled and hissed.
“I’m trying to help you, you stupid fish,” Fingon screamed at him.
“He’s just scared,” Gwindor was shouting, over and over, while the merman piercing shriek shattered eardrums. The three were in a competition to see who could be the loudest. The merman managed to wrench free of Gwidor’s hold, snapping at his fingers before clamping down onto Fingon’s neck. Fingon howled. Only a miracle prevented him from dropping the merman. Gwindor tangled his fist in red hair and gripped the merman’s jaw with his other hand and pried him off.
“Put him down,” he told Fingon, muscles straining as he kept the merman’s face away from Fingon. Fingon was only too happy to comply. The tiny part of his brain said to drop the creature on the ground, but he didn’t, placing him as gently as he could.
His knees gave out and he sank to the tile floor, scooting away from the rabid sea sea-beast. Blood ran in rivets down his neck, warm and unpleasant. The sight of red pouring from his neck made his stomach churn. He yanked the balaclava off and pressed it against the wound, swaying slightly.
“We’re going to have to gag him,” Gwindor snarled. He muttered curses under his breath, going again to the organised cupboards filled with instruments of torture and cleaning supplies, and other odds and ends, until he came back with a muzzle. The merman saw it, a plaintive whimper bleating out. The fight left him, and he sagged, trying to make himself small, hands over his head.
In the face of such learned fear, Fingon’s anger fled. “Do we have to? You said he was just scared.”
“Gwindor’s face was hard. “Do you want him to rip your throat out?” He bent over the merman, who obediently went limp, in a desperate attempt for mercy. He trembled, a soft keening sound escaping from his throat.
Gwindor fit it over his face. It was leather that covered his nose, chin, and parts of his cheeks, holding his jaw in a painful clamp. Across the mouth were enough holes so he could at least breathe and make his sad little sounds. It broke Fingon’s heart. Gwindor fastened the buckles, and the merman bowed his head, defeated.
“Let me look at your neck. Mairon has a med kit around here somewhere.” He found it, then dabbed disinfectant before bandaging it. “It’s a clean cut, didn’t hit anything major. He wasn’t aiming to kill. Sorry about that. I didn’t think that with me here he’d do that. Thought he trusted me a bit. He’s just scared.” He cast a sad look at the merman, who didn’t move.
“Right,” Fingon agreed. “It would be scary.”
Gwindor helped Fingon pick up the merman. “I’ll lead. Some of the passages get confusing. What about your friends?”
“Gone, by now. We all agreed to leave separately.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got fifteen minutes to get to Thorondor. He’ll wait five minutes after our agreed time to meet, and then he’ll leave.”
“Will make it,” Gwindor said grimly.
They stepped into the cool night air, the light breeze a blessing against Fingon’s sweaty skin. The merman twitched, looking round with fearful eyes. He whined a question, the only sound he could make with the hate muzzle tight around him.
“Shh,” Fingon hushed him. “We don’t want to be heard.”
The merman didn’t understand, whining stronger as he walked away from the ship, away from the sea. His fingers dug into Fingon’s shirt, lightly scraping the skin. His eyes darted back and forth, rolling in fear. He’s never been on land before, came the sudden thought. The merman kept looking at the sea. His cries grew louder like he was trying to call. Panic swelled in Fingon’s belly. What if someone heard him?
“Mairon’s coming,” Gwindor said, voice low.
Fingon’s blood froze. “What?” He whispered.
“Not you,” Gwindor hissed, waving him off. He made eye contact with the merman, placing his finger on his lips. “Mairon’s coming, Red. Shhh.” he said again. “Mairon,” and pointed behind them. The merman’s eyes bulged and he became deathly still. “Shhh,” Gwindor said, “Mairon.”
The merman didn’t make a sound. And Fingon and Gwindor were able to sneak away from Angband with none the wiser.
Thorondor had the car running. His expression betrayed no worry that Fingon had only a minute to spare before he would have had to have been left. Instead, he flicked blond-brown hair out of his eye. His black eyes narrowed at the sight of Gwindor.
“Who is this? I’m not an uber” He saw Fingon’s merman and pursed his lips. “Is that a…no, absolutely not, you are not bringing that into my car. Fingon, stop, I just got it detailed, now it’s going to smell like, fish, you will pay me back, do you hear.”
Fingon rolled his eyes. “Good to see you too.” He jerked a shoulder at Gwindor, who was opening the back seat. “This is Gwindor, he’s a friend.”
Thorondor’s sharp nose crinkled as he watched Fingon slide into the back, letting the merman’s tail, bundled in the sopping towel, stretch over the leather seats. The merman was still too long, and his fins awkwardly drooped to the floor.
Gwindor climbed into the passenger seat, mumbling sorry to Thorondor.
“This is the last time I help you,” he groaned, and slammed on the gas, peeling away with a screech of tyre.
The merman jumped, trembling redoubled, and buried his head against Fingon’s neck with a soft cry. It took all his willpower not to flinch, but only leather, not sharp teeth were pressed against him.
“Slow down, will ya? I think he’s afraid of the car.”
“Then he can walk.”
“That’s not nice, Thor.” Fingon said, noting the way Thorondor’s dark brown hands clenched the steering wheel so tightly they whitened. His heart softened at the only fear his friend would allow himself.
Fingon stroked the merman’s hair, murmuring softly in his ear. “You’re okay. It’s just a car. You’re okay.” It didn’t do anything to soothe the merman. He trembled hard, chest heaving as he struggled to breathe around fear and the gag.
Gwindor looked back at them. “It’s okay, Red. It will be over soon. You’re safe now.”
They pulled onto the freeway and tears pricked at Fingon’s eyes as the adrenaline left. He’d done it; it was over; he was going home and Morgoth would be none the wiser. Much to his shame, he started to cry, overcome with relief. He hadn’t realised his muscles were clenched tight, but they relaxed and he suddenly felt exhausted. Neither Gwindor nor Thorondor said anything, allowing him his moment. Fingon felt he deserved it, he had risked his life, risked capture, and now it was all over.
“Where am I taking you,” Throandor barked at Fingon when he was calm again.
“Home, just like the plan. Gwindor, do you have a place to go?”
“I hadn’t really planned on leaving…” A look of profound sadness overcame him, and he trailed off. “I’ll take you where you need,” Thoronder said, flatly, “so long as it’s not hours away.”
Gwindor thought for a moment, before saying, “I’ll meet up with Luthien.”
That reminded Fingon to message the group chat. He awkwardly fished his phone from his back pocket, rousing the merman. He shied away from the phone, jumping when Fingon started typing and letters appeared on the screen.
Finno: Headed home.
They had all agreed to sound as ambiguous as possible, in case anyone should see. For a few agonising seconds, there was no response, until Luthien’s message sprang up on WhatsApp.
Beren: Us too.
Luthien: Great job, my friends. <3
I’m very proud of you.
Finrod: Love you all! <3
Fingon let out his breath. Then sent a private text asking Finrod to come over tomorrow and bring any medical supplies he could, as Fingon had something cool to show him. He slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“Texted everyone. They got out safely.”
“Good,” Thorondor said. “How’s Ariel doing?”
“Don’t call him that. It’s not his name. Speaking of which, what is his name?”
Gwindor shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think he can speak Sindarin. He just squeaks and clicks like a dolphin. It’s probably a language, but no one could make sense of it. Mairon and Melkor always called him,” his voice got stuck in his throat. Gwindor coughed and then said, “I just use Red, seems to suit him.”
“Because of his hair?” Fingon laughed. “That is so unoriginal.”
In the review mirror, he could see Gwindor roll his eyes. “What would you call him them? Carrottop?”
“That’s even worse! You need to stop. Besides, he’s too coppery to look like a carrot.”
“Could call him copperhead. He bites like one.”
“That would be mean.” He played with the merman’s hair. “Don’t listen to him… Coppertop,” he decided suddenly. “He’s being ridiculous.”
“So, Carrot top is a no, but Coppertop is just fine?”
“Yep!”
Grwindor laughed, and some of the years seemed to leave him.
Fingon traced the scared skin of Coppertop’s arms and back. “What happened to him?”
Gwindor’s good mood evaporated. “Two months ago, we were cruising off the coast of Tirion. Hundred times I’ve been out there, but this time, there were mermaids. Dozens of them. They tried to drown us. Melkor had us put stoppers in our ears, but there was one that was so powerful; his voice pierced through the earplugs. He could only do it one at a time though, but still, it was impressive, he led many men into the water. Gothmog threw his harpoons and nets, Thuringwethil sat up in her loft, shouting where to strike. One of them, a little thing, not full-grown I imagine, got caught in a net. He had to be Red’s brother; they had the same hair. Red swam toward him, screaming like a banshee. Gothmog lassoed him and pulled him aboard.” In a damp, emotion-choked voice, Gwindor said, “Red managed to free his little brother. Glad about that.” He shook his head. “The group disappeared after that. Just abandoned him.
‘Melkor was delighted. He kept Red in a tank on the main deck. He was a pretty thing, lean muscle, elegant, barely a mark on him. Strong too. Some of the men assigned to feed him tried to make him perform, like a seal at one of those parks or something. They got too close and Red yanked one in and drowned him. No one could get him to let go.” A proud chuckle escaped him. “Red knew what he was doing. At night, he’d scream bloody murder at the top of his lungs for hours so no one could get a wink of sleep. Drowned several more people, and bit off a chunk arm. It was so bad they had to cut it off. He banged into the side of the tank so many times and with so much force, it broke. Water and glass were everywhere. It cost Melkor quite a bit money to fix it.
‘That lasted two weeks before Melkor had enough. He gave Red to Mairon, to tame him. You should have seen the way that bitch’s eyes lit up. Mairon kept in in a much smaller tank and took him out to play every day. Laid him on a steel table and carved into him, to see how he differed from humans and animals. Mairon would see how cold he could freeze the water before Red froze too, then did the opposite, boiling the water to see how long Red could take it. He rigged something up to electrocute the water once. Valar have mercy, the experiments I saw him do; he sewed his gills closed, ripped out his teeth which would grow back like sharks’. Starved him and would leave him out of water for hours to see how long before he dried up and died. Eru the screams were terrible. I wish I could forget.
‘Red was with Mairon for a month before Mairon thought he was tame and let his guard down. Red got the jump on him. Pulled him into the water and kept banging Mairon’s head against the floor of the tank. The only reason Mairon survived is because Gothmog had a cattle prod and held it against Red’s flesh until you could smell it burning. Mairon escaped and put him in the tank you saw. Broke his tail in several places so he could stuff him in. He fed him even less, and only rotten fish. And, you saw what happened to his hand. Red tried to push the lid off. I don’t know if he needed air, thought he could escape or what, but he wasn’t strong enough and it slammed down on his hand trapping it there. That was about five days ago. Mairon hasn’t let anyone near him since. I heard him tell Melkor Red would stay like that until the bruises from the beating Red gave him faded. I just to be his keeper or sorts, but I guess he saw that Red seemed to be attached to me, so he switched over to one of his closer men.”
Fingon pulled Coppertop closer to his chest as if that could protect him from the torture he’d endured. “How could they be so cruel to you?”
Hearing “Mairon” affected Coppertop greatly. His long ears twitched and his breath came fast. The mask kept him from breathing fully, which made the panic worse. He didn’t seem able to move, but lay trembling against Fingon. His throat hitched, boding heaving, but the mask kept him from getting sick.
“Coppertop,” Fingon begged, “please stop. It’s okay, he’s not here. He can’t hurt you.” He rubbed Coppertop’s back firmly, hoping to soothe.
Gwindor realised his mistake. “Ah shit Red. I’m sorry.”
“Can he understand us?”
“I think he understands tone, more than anything. But he knows certain words, and he definitely understands names.”
“Kinda like an animal then,” Thorondor supplied.
“That’s not nice,” Fingon snapped, which made Coppertop flinch, a tiny whimper bleeding out.
“Oh no, Coppertop. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get angry.”
Helplessness needled at him, pricking his heart, stirring up anger. He was supposed to help, it wasn’t supposed to be like this, but it was like he was staring at a plain of nothingness, unable to find anything that would work and sooth Coppertop.
A car swerved in front of them, and Thoronder slammed on the horn. Coppertop cowered against Fingon, in a full-blown panic attack. He couldn’t breathe through his nose or open his mouth wide enough, which made him panic more. His hands clawed at the mask, and he thrashed widely.
Fingon waded into the fray, fighting against Coppertop's hands so he could reach the buckles. It fell away with a snap, and Fingon tossed it to the floor. Gwindor didn’t say anything, but his face was tight. “It’ll be fine, Fingon assured him. Coppertop took in gulping breaths that rocked his body, while Fingon thumped him on the back. A swell of pride filled him when Coppertop calmed, placing his head back on Fingon’s shoulder. Fingon tensed, waiting. Coppertop’s gleaming eyes latched onto Fingon’s neck, but he didn’t bite.
After an hour and a half of driving, they pulled off at a rest stop that overlooked the sea, so Thorondor could switch out the license plates. All precautions were being taken and then some to ensure Morgoth could not trace them.
Fingon legs and butt felt numb from holding Coppertop, so Gwindor took Coppertop from Fingon allowing him the chance to stretch and walk around. Coppertop didn’t’ want to let go of Fingon, but Gwindor firmly pried him off, ignoring his whine. “Come on Red, give the lad a break. I won’t hurt you, you know me.”
He leaned against the car, letting Coppertop enjoy the sea breeze. The air felt good, fresh; the sound of waves soothing. He bent over to touch his toes, revelling in the stretch of his legs.
A low hum came from Coppertop, spilling into a sad, desperate song. He sang for a minute, then stopped, listening intently.
Fingon didn’t dare breathe but tried to listen for whatever Coppertop was calling. There was nothing. Coppertop tried again. A third time. The fourth had less of a melody and was pure desperation.
He’s calling for his family, Fingon realised. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
“Time to go,” Thorondor said. He was watching the few cars on the road. “I don’t want him out here too long, someone may see.”
“Take the front, Fingon,” Gwindor said, “I’ll handle Coppertop.” The stirrings of jealousy prickled, but Fingon only smiled and thanked him. He was Coppertop’s friend long before he met you, he tried to remind himself.
Gwindor tried to slide into the car but Coppertop protested. He made his little clicking sounds and strained toward the ocean. When Gwindor didn’t budge, his hands frantically grasped at Gwindor’s face, the right ones bloated and purple and stiff, but still Coppertop muscled through, trying to force Gwindor to meet his eyes. Gwinodr steadfastly ignored him. Coppertop grew desperate, scratching at Gwindor, begging.
“No,” he said in a strangled sort of voice. “You can’t go there.”
Gwidnor tried to close the door, but Coppertop slammed his head against Gwindor’s nose, breaking it. He sang his song again, as loud as he could, pleading for his family to come rescue him.
“They’re not coming, Red. Stop it. Stop it, you fucking fish.”
Gwindor was trying to keep Coppertop’s teeth away from him, face growing red in anger born from hurt. “I’m trying to help you. Stop this, you’re going to hurt yourself. Don’t make me muzzle you again. Please.”
“Give him back to Fingon,” Thorondor snapped.
“I can handle this!” Gwindor snarled.
“I said, give him back to Fingon. He likes Fingon.”
“He likes me.”
Coppertop snapped at Gwindor, teeth almost sinking into his arm. Gwindor slipped out of the car, leaving Coppertop flailing. “Fine,” he snarled at Fingon. “You help him.” He climbed into the front, slamming the door.
With blood pounding in his ears, Fingon approached the car. “Shh, shhh,” he said, sliding into the seat. He didn’t feel afraid, not for himself, only an empty feeling. He pulled Coppertop to him. “Shhh. Shhh, there’s a good fish, deep breaths.” Coppertop looked at him with his shining eyes wide and pleading. “We’re going to get you home, deep breaths though, deep breaths.” He massaged Coppertop’s head, running his fingers through his hair. Coppertop stared out the window. He pointed; face twisted in pain. I need to be out there. You need to take me to the sea, Fingon imagined him saying. I want to go home. Fingon’s face was wet with tears, and he buried his face in Coppertops hair
They pulled away, and Coppertop wailed. Fingon sobbed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so, so, sorry. We will send you back though, I promise. I’ll get you back to your family. We just have to fix your injuries.
Coppertop wrapped his arms around Fingon’s neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gwindor unbuckle his seat belt, ready to intervene if necessary. But, though the arms tightened around him painfully, Fingon didn’t get the sense Coppertop was trying to hurt him, only cling to him for comfort. He rubbed his back, cooing nonsense at him.
“He likes singing,” Gwindor said suddenly. “He used to hum to himself sometimes, after a brutal session on Marion’s table. He stopped, though; it made Mairon beat him harder. But, if I sang to him, he seemed…less miserable, and sometimes he’d sing back.
Thorondor turned on the radio, flipping until he found pretty classical music.
Coppertop’s head shot up, and he looked around the car, trying to find the sound. When nothing revealed itself, he tried to make himself appear smaller, looking fearfully reverent, like an angry Valar had appeared before him.
Gwindor turned the radio off, but Coppertop didn’t relax. So, Fingon sang to him, and, very, very, faintly, Coppertop sang back.
Rosy fingered dawn rouged the night sky, turning it from black to deep purple. They passed through Tirion, the houses shuttered in sleep, roads empty. The car rumbled down the country roads, headed home. Every time Fingon blinked prying his eyes back open took a great concentration of will. Gwindor’s head banged against the window, and he snapped back to attention with muttered curses. Only Thorondor remained steadfast, eyes locked on the road, hands never wavering.
Coppertop head kept nodding but he wouldn’t let himself slip into sleep, despite this being the first time in months he could truly rest in safety. His hair was dried now and ran soft as silk between Fingon’s fingers. “You have lovely hair, Coppertop,” he murmured with an exhausted sigh. “Is it the salt water?” His thoughts floated about, much like seaweed in the sea as the day’s harrowing events leached the energy from him. “My hair takes hours to do. Should I cut it short?” He tried to imagine himself with short hair, he’d look older, quite dashing, distinguished. However, the image rippled, and he saw his mother, fingering his braids, “You have such a boyish charm,” she cooed with a smile. “You’re such a happy baby.” He decided to keep the braids.
Coppertop’s nails dug into Fingon’s neck. Fingon looked down at him, dismayed to see him chewing his lip, eyes screwed tightly shut.
“Coppertop? Are you okay?”
Gwindor turned to them quickly. “Is he okay?”
“He seems to be in pain,” Fingon cried.
Gwindor thought for a moment, then his eyes grew wide with understanding. “He’s drying out.”
“Ah shit! Thorondor, drive faster!”
“Not a chance. Will get pulled over and they’ll see Ariel.”
“Mandos damn it all.” Fingon no longer felt weighed down with exhaustion, but fear for Coppertop ran like electricity through his veins. “Hang on Coppertop, please,” he begged, smoothing down his hair. “Where just fifteen minutes away, you can make it.”
He and Gwindor sang loudly, hoping to chase away Coppertop’s pain with distracting songs. He writhed in agony, and with a gasp, flung his head back, banging it against the window.
They pulled into Fingon’s driveway. Gwindor hopped out of the car before it was in park, pulling open the door for Fingon. Coppertop made a valiant effort, but in the end, he was howling, face as red as his hair, tendons in his neck straining. He writhed and screamed and Fingon almost dropped Coppertop several times.
When Fingon’s father had purchased the house, there was an attached conservatory, but at his children’s insistence, he had built a massive inground, saltwater pool. Fingon moved as fast as he could. Gwindor grabbed his keys and opened the door. In less than a minute, Fingon was in the conservatory. “Don’t put him in the deep end,” Gwindor warned. “His tail’s broken; he won’t be able to swim.”
Fingon plopped Coppertop in the water at the shallow end of the pool. His pained screams cut off, as he was submerged beneath the water. Fingon and Gwindor stood at the edge of the pool, panting, watching with a small fluttering of hope that they were not too late.
At the bottom of the pool, Coppertop lay still, gills gulping wide. Cautiously, like he was in a dream, afraid to believe it was real, he spread himself out. The width of the pool was long enough that he could stretch his hands and tail out and still not touch the side. His face turned and beneath the water, Fingon could see the rapture on his face. Coppertop turned towards the deep end, moving toward it, but as he flicked his mighty tail, a plaintive wail burst from his lips. But he didn’t stop, instead, pushing himself up from the bottom, floating, using his good arm to propel himself, never moving his tail. When he was in the deep end, he let out a breath and sank to the bottom.
Beside Fingon, Gwindor sighed, face marked with joy. “He hasn’t had this much room since he was taken,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Fingon too, was infected with Coppertop’s delight, confused at how overcome he was by the happiness of a creature he had only known for a few hours.
They watched him stay at the bottom of the pool, until Thorondor persuaded Gwindor to leave, so he could drop him off at Luthien’s and then go home himself.
“Here’s my number,” Gwindor said. “Text me sometimes, about how he’s doing.”
“I will,” Fingon promised.
Alone now, Fingon slipped to his bedroom, stripping his bed of pillows and blankets, before trudging back to the conservatory. Coppertop hadn’t moved; he was sleeping now. Fingon organised his things on the floor, then fell asleep, watching the blue-green scales shimmer in the light of the rising sun.